


==> Cronus: Pay Up

by biifurcatedCoder



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gangbang, Gillplay, M/M, Multi, Orgy, Porn With Plot, Xeno, ancestor kink, but not a ton of plot, dub-con, fear kink, guilty pleasure, i say dub con but its also his kink and he does want it hes just a little scared, implied bulgeslut Dualscar, mild body horror, mostly just gratuitous depictions of cronus being thoroughly used and getting off on that act, nook cronus, sexual favors, throatfucking, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 08:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biifurcatedCoder/pseuds/biifurcatedCoder
Summary: Your name is Cronus Ampora, and it would seem your Ancestor left higher expectations for you live up to than you thought. Whether you want to be like him or not doesn't matter now, because it is time to buck up and pay up on some apparent unfinished business.





	==> Cronus: Pay Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkyopolis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkyopolis/gifts).



Your name is Cronus Ampora, and right now, you wish more than ever that was not the case. 

Ampora is a name that held pride, position, power, a name with meaning and purpose, as you had been told growing up, but it hadn't meant jack shit in the game. Only now in the bubbles, is it finally catching up to you, and for the first time in your life and afterlife, you find yourself genuinely caring about that name, not out of pride, but fear.

You had been sauntering down the sidewalk along one of the side roads in the city, where you had been spending more time lately, loving the mix of troll and human aesthetics in the architecture. It was a pleasant evening, quiet for the most part, with a comfortable breeze in the air, and you felt pretty good about yourself, hair styled to a T, v neck shirt making your shoulders look broad and strong and clinging to the plump weight you had put on during your time post-game, and jeans hugging your thick thighs and ass in a way that was just snug enough to look choice without chafing. Top it all off with a nice pair of saddle shoes in crisp black and white, and you were the embodiment of suave style, confident in your body and exuding an air of slight cockiness that frankly, you felt was earned by this point in your life. You didn't feel like anybody owed you anything, not one of those types of guys, but you carried yourself with an air of value, self-proclaimed. 

In the city, you were becoming a bit better known, at least along the blocks you frequented, the little diners and cafes knew your face as a regular, and you made small talk with the people hanging around the corners when you'd pass their way, so you knew about everyone in the area by now, either by name or at least by face, and were on remarkably amicable terms with all of them. They felt like neighbors, moreso than the other trolls of your session ever had before. These people got you, they could appreciate your aesthetic, seemed interested in what you had to say and didn't brush you off as some poser or loser. Here, in the bars and pubs and restaurants, you were exactly as cool and laid back and easy-to-approach as you wanted to be. 

For all your knowledge of the people in the area and your lighthearted friendly bonds with them, you were accustomed to the occasional "hey chief" or "how you doing, Cronus?", that sort of casual greeting. What you were absolutely unprepared for though was the sudden gruff, the deep blunt voice that more accused than greeted when it hit your ears from an unseen source down the alley between your apartment building and the one next to it.

"Ampora"

It was a shock, hearing that surname, and your fins bristled as you peered warily down the alley, trying to maintain that air of confidence despite the confusion and unease settling in your gut.

"That's my name, chief, but I prefer ta be called by my actual name, ya dig? Uh.. wherever ya are... Name's Cronus, good to meet ya ?"

Friendly is the attempt, coming out sounding unsure. Your nerves are showing, and you really should keep walking, but you have zero sense of self preservation, and are trying to maintain that positive relationship with your neighbors, so you want to give this person a chance, whomever they may be. He steps forward, the sound of his footsteps heavy and solid like a clydesdale hoofbeast on stone, and in an instant, you recognize why. 

Zahhak. Not just any Zahhak either, but Horrus's ancestor, Darkleer. He stands tall, a massive blueblood of sheer size and bulk, herculean in physique and thoroughly intimidating in mere presence. Your throat is tight just looking at him, unsure of what he wants, what he may have heard about you from Horrus, if they even do know one another.... or if he may be after you for other reasons. His eyes do not look friendly, but if he wanted to hurt you, he could havd easily done so without making his presence known, you're sure of it, so you stay frozen in place for now, staring warily up at this massive man. He half requests half demands you come with him, and weighing the risks of attempting to run versus whatever he may want, you decide to comply, stepping toward him down the side alley.... all the while, feeling your throat tighten right up in nerves, stomach doing an anxious little flip.

He leads you deeper between the two buildings, away from the light of the street lamps, and you feel a chill down here you had not felt before. The air seems colder, the sky further away, the night seeming to close in around you as you follow the shape of the man ahead of you and the sound of his hooves on the stone, until he stops. 

"When I heard rumour of a young Ampora in the area, I was skeptical. Your ancestor was the only of your lineage I had ever known, and when he fled to the sea, I believed I would never see those jagged horns again..." Darkleer rumbles like thunder, deep in a way that you can feel in your diaphragm. 

"Fled...?" You question, wanting to argue that your ancestor wouldn't have fled from anything unless it was genuinely too much, and nothing was too much for him! But before you can protest in defense of the ancestor you never met, you are grabbed suddenly, roughly, by your horns and forced to the hard ground. On your knees in this dark, narrow alley, you feel vulnerable. This is it, you're going to be executed, you can feel it in your gut. "Look, w-wv..wvhatevwer he owves ya, I can pay up, i got plenty a stuff, gold coins, old maps, lots a stuff from him, I can pay! You dont gotta kill me, I'm an agreeable guy, I can behavwe an i wvont tell a soul, promise!"

He grunts, snorting out a heavy breath in half amusement, one hand firm on your horn, grip so solid it feels as if he could crush it, snap the bone with ease if he so desired. His other hand moves to brush a thumb claw against your jaw. You're in a mild panic now, pusher racing with confusion as you shift your weight uncomfortably, knees sore from being forced to the ground and jeans feeling too tight with your legs squished under your body like this. 

"If you are half the bulgeslut he was, I won't have to worry about any of that"

\---

The phrase hits like a truck, and your pan is a scrambled scattered mess of adrenaline and fear, churning confusion and the stirring beginning of arousal. Why would you be getting off to this, this massive horse troll is slandering your name, implying your ancestor was some kind of whore, and threatening to make you into one as well if you are reading the situation correctly.. Yet when he removes his hand from your face to undo his trousers in the dark of the alley and his massive, rich blue bulge rears free from his sheathe before your face in the subtle moonlight filtering down between the buildings, you can't deny the rush of heat that flushes down toward your nook.

Compliantly, without needing to be told, you open your mouth as wide as you can get it. He growls a warning that if you bite, your horn is as good as toast, and you swallow back the bitter taste of bile from fear as you nod, eyes focused up toward his head far above you. He pushes in, flared blunt tip of his odd shaped bulge breaching your soft, cool mouth and coating your tongue in a salty musky taste as you seal your lips gingerly around the head and begin to work the head and urethra with your tongue. Your jaw aches a little already from being held open so wide, but he grunts a sound of approval, so you ignore the discomfort and keep working the thick head until he shoves in deeper. 

Your throat burns, and in an instant you are grateful seadwellers have no actual gag reflex, because he forces his way further in, well past your oral cavity and down your throat. You can barely breathe, finding yourself gasping shallowly through your abdominal set of gills under your shirt as he grinds his hips forward and uses your horn like a handle to make a fleshlight out of your face. Tears burn in your eyes, neck gills stinging from the thick solid intrusion in your throat which has your throat feeling like it could tear. He doesn't give you much time to adjust, waiting only a moment or so before beginning to move. You are pressed back to the wall, knees aching, thighs quivering, and nook throbbing shamefully as he manhandles your head with all the gruff you would expect of a Zahhak and fucks your throat relentlessly. You can feel, much to your horror, the tip of his bulge seeming to swell and flare broader than before within your throat, straining the delicate tissue of your gills worse with each thrust until they are bleeding a little from fine tears spreading along the frills. You gurgle helplessly around his bulge as he snorts and grunts, assaulting your throat with shameless stamina until you feel the thick muscle tense and a sudden rush of material flood your helpless throat. With how deep his bulge is forced, you can't swallow, though your body tries, gills flared wide with panic along your ribs as your body responds to the rush of thick material as if you were in the water and forces some of the blue material out of your aching neck gills, making you feel almost as if you are drowning with how thick it is. You can feel the flood of fluids heavy in your gut, gills burning and throat feeling raw as he pulls his bulge out of your mouth and wipes the definitely flared tip off on your face. You are slack-jawed, glossy eyed, blue material drooling out of your mouth and escaping through your neck gills as you gasp helplessly, and he can only chuckle quietly, commenting on how pretty you are like this.

Hoping you may be finished ( he can't possibly have more in him still, can he..?) you almost start to relax, trying to focus on your breathing and expelling the excess genetic material out of your gills, but he dashes that misguided idea in an instant. Your pusher does a little flip and nook throbs hard when he uses your aching horn to turn you around so you are facing down the alley, moving you to all fours. To your surprise, he doesn't tear your jeans at all when he tugs them down your hips, though he does comment on your lack of bulge, cuing you in on a little detail you and your ancestor have in common you never knew about before. In your daze, you almost don't notice when he whistles, pan so thoroughly fried in this moment as he runs his broad bulge against your plump nooklips before dipping into the slick mess between your thighs. He calls you out on your arousal, being used in this way has you an absolute mess, violet staining your discarded jeans and making your thighs pleasantly slick and nook even moreso for him. That whistle clicks in your pan though, when you see someone ahead of you, turn from the street down the alley and walk your way. Another, and another.....

Your neighbors...

The people from the diner, the bars, the pub.... the men from the corner.. the lady from the barber shop... filing down the alley toward your blue-stained face as you look on in humiliated shame toward them. Your face flushes violet, Darkleer hits a spot deep within your nook that makes you chirp then moan brokenly with want as a gal you recognize from one of the restaurants wipes the blue geneslime from your lips with her thumb before pulling her shorts down her hips to her thighs and nudging her bulgetip to your lips. You can only open wide, moaning from the feeling of the massive blueblood between your thighs as you offer your mouth for her pleasure, nook only becoming that much slicker with ever growing arousal as you realize all these people are waiting their turns with you, intent on filling your belly full of their combined genetic material of all sorts of hues as if you are the mother grub. 

As the night goes on, and the citizens prove their insatiable appetites, bringing you to climax more times than you can count, you come to understand why everyone in the block seemed to be so happy to meet you.... and why your name held such value here..... Why Dualscar left, you can't be entirely certain, but if living here and carrying on the Ampora name meant you were the community cumdump for all these people, that was a life you could absolutely live with.


End file.
